


look alive, sunshine

by intergalacticspacedyke (bodytoflame)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: All that matters is I said Raven Reyes rights, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Finn is still on the ark, Past Finn Collins/Raven Reyes, Raven Reyes is part of the 100, Raven Reyes-centric, The 100 (TV) Season 1, he doesn't really matter, let raven reyes say fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26870791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodytoflame/pseuds/intergalacticspacedyke
Summary: Finn doesn't cover for Raven, who's a few months shy of 18, and she ends up one of the 100. An exploration of S1 with a Raven-centric view. AKA: isn't it great to have another semi competent person on the ground?
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> on october 22, 2014, i tweeted "i love you raven reyes" and i stand by that tweet 6 years later.
> 
> so hello hi you may or may not know me! this fandom is a literal nightmare hellscape but idk raven reyes fans yall kinda vibin over here real chill so i figured i'd pop in and do one of my favorite tropes, which is a good ol' butterfly effect, let's-change-one-thing and see wtf happens. i have ABSOLUTELY no clue where this is going so dont ask me bc i dont know shit!!! but ive always been a fan of the raven & murphy dynamic as well as clarke & wells (and its a SHAME he didn't get more mentions throughout the seasons) so i definitely want to explore both of those early series dynamics. also wow lowkey s1 bellamy is so fun to write. a n y w a y s! here this is! it's a thing i wrote! i will probably continue it! do not sue me if i don't!

Finn didn’t visit her _once_. She left the necklace he made her inside the cell in the Sky Box — the last reminder of her old life. The second the alarm sounded, he ran, and was as good as dead to her. As good as dead as she’ll be soon enough, either way: waiting in this hellhole for the day they would float her, or going down to that death trap of a planet. Sinclair had told her, the day she turned 18, a few days before… whatever _this_ is, _’This is your chance, Raven. And it’s the best I could do. So don’t waste it.’_

And she doesn’t plan on it. Plus, she got her spacewalk— that’s enough in her book. _To boldly go where no man has gone before… Or at least no almost-18-year-old mechanic with a heart murmur._ Besides, if she’s going to die anyways, she may as well go out as one of the first people to set foot on Earth in nearly 100 years. Sure beats being floated (but oh, how poetic that would be).

Even strapped into the seats of the dropship, she can feel the pull (or lack of) of zero-gravity, and it’s so tempting to just _let go_. But Raven knows better — she’s a zero-g mechanic, and a damn good one, no matter if it’s an _official_ designation or not (failed physical exam be damned). She knows a thing or two about space travel, and atmospheric re-entry is definitely something you want to be sitting down for, let alone when the parachutes or thrusters start up. There’s commotion all around, and she turns her head to see some idiot, starting to unstrap his restraints. Her voice pierces the clamor of the delinquents, and echoes off all the walls, “Sit the hell down!”

“Oh, come on, _Spacewalker_ , isn’t this what you live for?” The boy’s biting tone rings in the air, his sarcasm not lost. Some of the other delinquents start to whisper, what she can only assume is in hushed, bitter recognition of her identity. _And that she’s probably the reason they’re down here now, and not in three months from now— but they don’t know that._

“Sure is,” she smiles, sickeningly sweet, “But you won’t be doing much more living yourself if you don’t. Getting your head split open when the parachutes deploy doesn’t seem like a fun way to go.” They’re coming in too fast — she can feel it. It’ll be a wonder if they even deploy at all.

He reluctantly sits down, and sure enough, the parachutes and thrusters kick in with a loud thud, shaking the entire ship. It’s a relief. They land, smoother than she expected of a hundred year old glorified escape pod, and Raven freezes. The others huddle near the door, seemingly _eager_ to open it up and face whatever’s there for them. They made it here — that was never certain, from everything she knows about engineering, it’s a miracle they’re still alive inside this hunk of a death trap. But outside that door is a world they’ve never faced, and could still be dangerous. Hell, though, they’re _here_.

A man, who looks slightly older than all of them, reaches his hand towards the lever. As she makes her way to the back of the crowd, a blonde girl chimes in, saying exactly what Raven herself is thinking: “Stop. The air could be toxic.”

“If the air is toxic, we’re all dead anyways.” _Fair point._

“Bellamy?” The brunette next to her chimes in, starting to push her way to the front of the ship.

 _Bellamy_ ’s hand drops from the lever, reaching to embrace the girl. “My god, look how big you are.”

“What the hell are you wearing, a guard’s uniform?”

“I ’borrowed’ it to get on the dropship. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you,” he laughs.

The blonde interrupts again. “Where’s your wristband?”

The girl turns, eyes shooting daggers at her. “Do you mind? I haven’t seen my brother in over a year.”

“No one has a brother,” a boy says.

At this, it all comes together. _That’s Octavia Blake. That’s the girl they found hidden under the floor._ There’s just as much whispering as the kids recognize her, as the _Spacewalker_ nickname seemed to evoke. So, at least she isn’t the only _notorious_ criminal here. Even so— her only crime was being _born_. Raven may very well have doomed humanity. Although, that’s not something she wants to dwell on right now, not when they’re about to see _Earth_ for the first time, up close, with their own two eyes, knowing full well it _could_ kill them. _There’ll be time for your crisis of ethics later._ There’s something beautiful in the danger of it; just like the cold vacuum of space.

“Octavia, Octavia, no.” Bellamy’s hand rests on his sister’s shoulder. “Let’s give them something else to remember you by.”

She smiles, “Yeah? Like what?”

“Like being the first person on the ground in a hundred years.”

It’s a blur as the doors open, Octavia jumping down from the dropship with a scream in celebration, taking off into the sea of green— and the delinquents rush out after her. Raven stays for a minute, taking in the sights, taking her last steps on the corrugated floor of the ship, cold, and metal, and like _home_ — because she knows the feelings; how it works, how to manipulate if. When she finally takes her first step onto the ground, dirt mushing beneath her feel, somehow, it feels more grounded than the harsh interior of the Ark ever did.

She finds the girl, _Clarke_ , talking to Wells Jaha, the chancellor’s son (Raven wonders what grievous crime he could’ve committed to end up here), intensely focused on something in the distance, while the other kids are still marveling at the very idea of this planet. Her voice becomes clearer among the screaming and hollering as Raven gets closer. “Mount Weather. There’s a radiation-soaked forest between us and our next meal. They dropped us on the wrong damn mountain.”

If Raven had been in charge of this mission, she sure as hell wouldn’t have missed. And _really_ sure as hell would’ve made sure the ship was up to par for making a _fifty mile descent into the atmosphere_. Just taking one look at it, she knows they’re screwed. “The ship’s comms system is dead. We can’t even communicate with them. I might be able to rig something up with enough spare parts, but…”

Wells nods, “I went to the roof. A dozen panels are missing. Heat fried the wires.”

“Well, all that matters right now is getting to Mount Weather. See?” She points at the map, charcoal marking the distance between two points. “Look. This is us. This is where we need to get to if we want to survive.”

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Wells pauses. “Your father.”

They’ve got history. It’s a sore subject, Raven can tell, and she doesn’t want to endure another second of it. Thankfully, another kid saunters up, and makes some snarky remark that dispels some of the tension. “Ah, cool, a map. They got a bar in this town? I’ll buy you a beer.” He looks like a tool with some sort of ski goggles on his head.

“You mind?” Wells shoves him, prompting a response from the boy leading the threatening-looking horde heading their way.

“Hey, hey, hey, hands off of him. He’s with us.” His hair is long, slicked back with grease.

“Relax,” Wells smiles, “We’re just trying to figure out where we are.”

A shout comes from across the clearning, “We’re on the ground. That not good enough for you?” It’s Bellamy, standing with his sister.

Wells continues, “We need to find Mount Weather. You heard my father’s message. That has to be our first priority.”

Octavia laughs, “Screw your father. What, you think you’re in charge here, you and your little Princess?”

Raven has to stop herself from laughing. The nickname is almost too on-the-nose. She's the darling daughter of Abigail Griffin, the Ark's resident doctor and Council member. Raven didn't recognize her at first, but as soon as she heard her name, she knew. It was hard not to know about the girl who'd been in solitary for nearly a year after being arrested for high treason.

“Do you think we care who’s in charge? We need to get to Mount Weather not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we’ll get and the harder this’ll be. How long do you think we’ll last without those supplies? We’re looking at a twenty-mile trek, okay? So if we want to get there before dark, we need to leave _now_.”

At least Clarke's right. She might be more privleged than the rest of them, but she has half a brain for survival.

Bellamy retorts, right back at her, “I got a better idea. You two go, find it for us. Let the privileged do the hard work for a change.”

“Yeah, you and _Spacewalker_ here,” the boy with the greasy hair smirks, pointing towards Raven.

She’s about to speak, put him in his place (as she suspects someone should’ve tried to do a long time ago), but Wells continues: “You’re not listening. We all need to go.”

He laughs, shoving Wells from behind, “Look at this, everybody… The Chancellor of Earth!”

He trips Wells, who just smirks, looking up from the ground, “Think that’s funny?”

Some of the other kids jeer, egging the two of them on. “No, but that was,” he shrugs.

The two of them square up, starting to circle each other, and Raven knows it’s just a matter of time before the first punch falls. “Hey,” she calls out, “Hey!” They finally look at her, falling from their defensive positions. “I don’t want to listen to the entitled son of the man who sent us all down here as much as you do. But I also know that—”

“ _What do you know_ , Spacewalker?”

“I would’ve been the youngest zero-g mechanic on the Ark in fifty-two years,” Raven folds her arms, used to having her ability questioned by men, but not a _boy_ her own age, let alone one who looks so… sleazy. “I would bet I know a whole lot more than you. And I have a name, you know.”

“Too bad— I think Spacewalker has a nice ring to it.”

She rolls her eyes. _What a dick._

“Well?” he asks, “You can’t expect me to know it without you telling me.”

“What?”

“Your _name_ , Spacewalker.”

“Raven. Reyes.” She tells him, despite not wanting to talk to him ever again, in a desperate attempt to not _only_ be known as the girl who let three months of oxygen go to waste. “And who the hell do you think you are, other than hot shit?”

“That’s Murphy. And he’s a professional asshole. Screw the banter. When do we leave?” Wells asks, dissipating some of the tension between her and Murphy.

Clarke answers him, “Right now. We’ll be back tomorrow with food.”

“Clarke,” she calls out, “If you find any electronics at this Mount Weather place, bring them back. I’ll take a look, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do much with what we have.”

“Okay. Thank you, Raven.”

“Sorry— how are the _two of you_ going to bring back enough food for _all of us_?” Murphy asks.

The kid with the goggles grabs the boy he’s been standing with the entire time, the sheepish one with the shaggy hair, and steps forward. “Four of us. I’m all for a field trip.”

Octavia chimes in, “Sounds like a party. Make it five.”

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Bellamy asks, grabbing her arm.

“Going for a walk.”

He drags her off to the side. It’s strange, their dynamic. He’s like an overbearing father to her, yet he still pokes fun and jokes with her. Is that what siblings are like? Or just them? Clarke’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts, clear, and bright, and far too naive to be stepping up here. She looks at this planet like it’s _not_ trying to kill them. Raven knows better. Even if it looks beautiful, they have no idea what else could be out there, deep in the woods. Worse yet, there could be _nothing_.

She grabs one of the younger delinquents' wrist, from the front of the crowd. “Hey, were you trying to take this off?” It’s the metal wristbands they attached to them before they left. _Hurt like a bitch, too._

The kid rolls his eyes. “Yeah. So?”

“So, this wristband transmits your vital signs to the Ark. Take it off, and they’ll think you’re dead,” she chides, like she’s talking to a child, not someone her own age.

“Should I care?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she sighs, sarcasm lacing her voice, “Do you want the people you love to think you’re dead? Do you want them to follow you down here in two months? Because they won’t if they think we’re dying. _Now let’s go_.”

The group departs, Octavia included, and Raven finds herself back in the dropship, tracing the seams of the metal walls. There’s gotta be a hidden compartment, or _something, somewhere_. “Hey there, _Spacewalker_.” He emphasizes the nickname, leaning against the wall.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that, right?”

“Ooh, that stings, Reyes.”

 _At least he’s calling her by her actual name now_. “Why don’t you go back to doing… whatever the hell it is you do when you’re not bothering me? I’m trying to actually prove myself useful here.”

He plops down into one of the dropship seats. “Doesn’t look like you’re doing much.”

“I’m trying to build a radio. There’s gotta be wiring and circuits hiding behind the walls, if only I could break open some of these panels.” She’s so used to having Sinclair to bounce ideas off. Even if he’s just about the most _annoying_ person on the face of this planet (quite possibly true), it helps, hearing it all out loud. “If I can find a diode, and salvage the speakers inside, I can rig up something so we can at least _hear_ the Ark. There’s plenty of wires I could use for a coil and antenna; anything used in a machine so susceptible to heat is bound to have insulated wiring. It wouldn’t be much, but… it would be better than nothing.”

She expects him to laugh, or call her a nerd. Instead, he just says, “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Raven asks.

“They send us down here, not even knowing if we’d _live_ , and you care if they think we’re dead? You _want_ to talk to the people who sent _kids_ to a planet that’s probably still bathing in radiation?”

Raven answers quietly, and she believes it. “They wouldn’t have sent us here without a reason. There’s something wrong with the Ark.” Sinclair had told Raven, in everything but exact words, that her spacewalk was the reason they were being sent down. There wasn’t enough oxygen. There _already_ wasn’t enough oxygen, and she made it worse.

Murphy nods, slowly, and walks out of the dropship. Raven’s about to give up, and follow him to find the others, when he comes back in with a rock, and, without ceremony, chucks it at the wall. It dents the paneling, a tinny thump reverberating throughout the ship, and into Raven’s ears.

“Jesus!”

“For such a tough girl, you sure scare easy,” he teases, rolling his eyes as he picks up the rock again. She braces for the impact, and assault on her ears, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the noise from outside picks up, and Raven hears the distinct sound of celebration.

They make it into the clearing just in time to see Wells shouting at Bellamy. “What the hell are you doing?”

“We’re liberating ourselves. What does it look like?” A pile of wristbands lie in the dirt, a line waiting behind Bellamy. It's quite possibly the largest display of idiocy Raven's ever seen.

“It _looks_ like you’re trying to get us all killed. The communication system is dead. These wristbands are all we got. Take them off, and the Ark will think we’re dying. That it’s not safe for them to follow.”

“Yeah, that’s the point, Chancellor. We can take care of ourselves, can’t we?” Bellamy looks to the rest of the delinquents, who cheer in approval.

Wells stands closer, trying to intimidate him. “You think this is a game? Those aren’t just our friends and our parents up there.” He appeals to the crowd: “They’re our farmers. Our doctors. Our engineers. _I don’t care_ what he tells you. We won’t survive here on our own, and besides, if it really is safe, how could you not want the rest of our people to come down?”

It doesn’t seem to work — Bellamy just gets angrier, stepping further into Wells’ personal space. “My people already are down. _Those people_ locked _my people_ up. _Those people_ killed my mother for the crime of having a second child. _Your father_ did that.”

“My father didn’t write the laws,” Wells says, through gritted teeth.

“No,” Bellamy steps back, laughing. “He enforced them, but not anymore, _not here_. Here, there are no laws.” There’s a general sense of enthusiasm at this — for a group of so-called criminals, it’s basically an invitation. He addresses the rest of the crowd: “Here, we do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want. Now, you don’t have to like it, Wells.” He smiles, and it’s laced with faux-sweetness. “You can even try to stop it or change it. Kill me. You know why? Whatever the hell we want.” He enunciates the words carefully, letting each of them sit with Wells on their own.

Murphy — and she shouldn’t’ve expected anyone else — shouts back, “Whatever the hell we want!”

And so the cycle begins, the rest of the belligerent teens shouting it aloud, like a war cry. Like _scripture_. Thunder booms, and it’s fitting — nature has decided to disrupt their reverie, just as they've interrupted the planet's hundred-year peace.

“Reyes—” He calls out to her, “We need to collect this.”

“Yeah, on it!” For the Chancellor’s kid, he’s pretty down-to-earth — no pun intended — if not clouded by his own feelings.

Bellamy just repeats, staring daggers into Wells’ eyes. “Whatever the hell you want.”


	2. Chapter 2

Wells almost slits Murphy’s throat. Not that he wasn’t being a colossal idiot. It’s Clarke to the rescue, yet again. But Raven can’t help but notice that it’s far sooner than they should’ve been able to make it back. She stands on the sidelines of the conversation, listening, and watching, just trying to gain some semblance of their situation.

Bellamy checks on his sister first, then asks Clarke, “Where’s the food?”

“We were attacked. We didn’t make it.” _So much for that._

“Attacked? By what?” Wells asks.

The kid with the black hair — the one that looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly — responds, frantic. “Not what. _Who_.”

“Impossible,” Bellamy scoffs.

Octavia looks toward him. “Bell, it’s true.”

Clarke (inevitably) responds; “Everything we thought we knew about the ground is wrong. There are people here, survivors. The good news is, that means we can survive. Radiation won't kill us.”

_And… the bad news?_

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t stop a bunch of crazy people with spears from attacking and kidnapping us!”

“Monty!”

“He’s my best friend, Clarke!”

Wells steps in. “Hey. We’ll get him back.”

Clarke grabs his wrist, pushing up his sleeve, “Where’s your wristband?”

He sighs, nodding towards Bellamy. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“How many?” she asks.

Murphy smirks. “Twenty-four and counting.”

And Raven thought he was just a know-it-all— the typical sarcastic player she’d encountered tens of times before, and certainly wouldn’t be the last— but no, he’s actually dangerous; at least, working with Bellamy, he is.

“ _You idiots._ Life support on the Ark is failing. That's why they brought us down here. They need to know the ground is survivable again, and we need their help against whoever is out there. If you take off your wristbands, you're not just killing them. You're killing _us_!”

Even though Sinclair practically told her as much, it’s still a huge blow to hear it from the daughter of one of the Council members — it just makes it that much more real.

Bellamy looks toward the crowd on the hill. “We're stronger than you think. Don't listen to her. She's one of the privileged. If they come down, she'll have it good. How many of you can say the same? We can take care of ourselves. That wristband on your arm? It makes you a prisoner. We are _not_ prisoners anymore! They say they'll forgive your crimes. I say you're not criminals! You're fighters, _survivors_! The Grounders should worry about _us_!”

Bellamy… Bellamy is the _worst_ kind of self-centered asshole. He’s a _smart_ self-centered asshole. He’s charismatic; people like him, and they trust his confidence. It’s a dangerous combination. With Murphy? Those two are a disaster just waiting to happen. Clarke storms off in the other direction, Monty and Wells hot on her tail, and Raven follows, curious for any further explanation, and (though she doubts it) anything that would help her make contact with the Ark. They regroup at the dropship, gathering supplies.

“What the _hell_ happened out there?” Raven asks.

Clarke answers; “Like I said, we were attacked.”

Monty’s outburst is unexpected, seemingly even to himself. “That spear hit Jasper from at least a few hundred feet away. We’re walking to our own deaths if we go back out there without a plan!” That about seals the deal for Raven. She’s itching to get out and see outside of their makeshift camp, but… maybe she’ll save that for when they’re not being skewered by people that might be radioactive mutants. _What, she’s a cynic, sue her._

“What’s the other option? We just let Jasper die?”

“No! No, that’s not what I’m saying!”

“Hey, Monty.” Raven waves her hand in front of his face. “ _Breathe_.”

“He’s like my brother…”

“And we’ll get him back,” Clarke reassures him.

Wells drops down the ladder, with a backpack made of material scraps from the dropship; buckles and — insulation from the walls.

“Did you get the walls open?”

He nods. “There was already a huge dent in one of the panels, I kicked it in and ripped some of the insulation out. I also got one of the parachutes, figured we could use it to carry Jasper.” At least she can thank Murphy for _something_.

Before Raven can ask him about the wires, Clarke speaks up; “Good idea. Give it to someone else. You’re staying here.”

“What?”

“You’re a loose cannon, Wells.”

“You came back for reinforcements. I’m gonna help.”

While Raven is perfectly content sitting this one out, Monty can’t help jumping in and picking a side. He’s desperate; she can tell. “Clarke, come on, he’s right. We need as much help as we can get.”

“Monty, you’re not coming either.”

“Like _hell_ I’m not. If we’re doing this now, I’m with you.”

“You’re too important. You were raised on Farm Station and recruited by engineering.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , food and communication. What's up here,” she smiles, pointing to his head, “it's gonna save us all. Stay with Raven. You figure out how to talk to the Ark, and I'll bring Jasper back.”

Raven doesn’t know if she’ll ever understand how she manages to be so endearing. The puzzle of Clarke Griffin is… blank, a solid color, but a bright one, like the sun, luminescent and beautiful, but burning with intensity. She can’t line up the pieces just the right way — and even if she did, it wouldn’t change the bigger picture. She’s somehow stuck up, and down to earth at the same time (and that irony isn’t lost on Raven). This part of Clarke seems so _innocent_ , like her family isn’t the reason she would’ve been floated; isn’t the reason she’s down here.

Clarke shakes her head. “Let’s go, Wells.” She ushers him out, leaving Raven with Monty.

She’s never been good at this kind of stuff. “They’ll get him back.”

“So—” he sighs, clearly not wanting to talk about it, “youngest zero-g mechanic on the Ark in what was it, fifty-three years?”

“Fifty-two, actually,” she smiles, fine with the change of pace, as she gets to work picking out pieces of the paneling to work with. “Not really, though. Never got my certification.”

“How come?”

She considers brushing him off — but even though she’s only known him a day… it’s _Monty_. There’s not a world in which he has any malcontent towards her — or anyone. “Heart murmur.”

“Oh,” he says.

“…Yeah.” It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. Now it’s her own turn to change the subject: “So you spent some time in engineering?”

“Not as much as I did growing herbs, but yeah.”

Raven raises an eyebrow. “ _Herbs_?”

“I mean… _maybe_ , … _theoretically_ ,” he laughs, “but don’t tell Clarke.”

Her smile turns to a frown— it _has_ to be here, one, at least, if anything… There’s wires ripped out of every crevice of the panel, and she’ll tear the camp apart until she finds them if she has to.

“Don’t worry— I saved these just for you.” Monty holds his hand out, presenting a collection of wires and diodes; exactly what she needs.

She sighs in relief, “Thank god.”

And so begins a friendship (she thinks) built on elbow grease and, somehow, completely dueling personalities. They spend the next few hours assembling the most crude, primitive crystal radio known to man — and it doesn’t even work. All that, and it _doesn’t even work_.

“Damn it!” she shouts, banging her fist on the wall.

“Wait, wait, I have an idea!” Monty fiddles with something, and static fills the air, crackling as a voice brings life to the comms.

“—s Abigail Griffin onboard the Ark. Earth, please acknowledge.”

“Oh my god,” he gasps quietly.

She looks at him, breaking out in a grin and pulling him into a hug. “You absolute genius!”

He shrugs, shoulders still caught in her grasp. “Not really. I just tuned it to a different frequency.”

It takes everything in her not to laugh — that wouldn’t have even crossed her mind before she’d disassembled and reassembled the entire thing several times over. “We’re a pretty good team.” _Something about opposites attract…?_

“But now what? What’s the next step? We can hear them, but they can’t hear us.”

“I wonder… if we could use anything from the bracelets. They’re designed to transmit our vitals, but if we combined that with our radio…” It’s sophisticated tech, but it’s familiar tech. Anything from the Ark is likely to be similar to something she’s worked on before, after all, it comes from the same place, and the same engineers.

“You think we would be able to talk to them?”

“Not with our voices but… if we could manipulate the signals they’re sending… we might be able to get them a message that it’s safe. Hey, toss me one of them.”

“No power. I already checked. They die immediately once they disconnect. I think they’re powered by the body somehow.”

“Shit.” There goes her _only_ idea. It was one thing to leave them down here with no supplies, no food, no water, but without a backup communication method? Raven has some strong words for whatever idiot thought _that_ was okay. Sure, she’s smart enough to rig up a way to _listen_ , but there aren’t the right tools for even the simplest means of transmission, and she hates to wonder what the situation would be like if she weren’t here. Monty knows his way around wiring and simple circuits, but nothing that could hold a candle to her intimate knowledge of the craft.

“If they only work when they’re connected to us… what if…”

“What?” She glares at him, and the realization hits her. “You want to manipulate someone’s vitals to send a message?”

“No… but what if it means the difference between saving everyone we love up there, and letting them die? Raven, my family’s up there.”

He’s desperate. _They all are_. It’s not like she can say the same, but her conscience wouldn’t let her live with the deaths of the people she’s known all her life.

“I don’t even know how we’d do that.” Her expertise doesn’t lie in hacking the human body. Code is different; physical and digital systems have simple wiring, that serves a purpose easily visible through the connections and syntax— nothing like the complexity of the veins and nerves, hidden by flesh and bone. She can navigate electronics with surgical precision, but wires _don’t care when you cut them_. And it’s better that way. People are… messy. She sure is.

“Clarke would.”

“You think she’d do it for a chance to talk to her mother?”

“Raven, you’re not actually going to go through with this…?”

The worry lacing his voice reaches a pit in Raven’s stomach. Would it really be worth it to save everyone on the Ark — knowing they sent them down here to die? For once, she wonders if Bellamy’s stance has some weight to it. She sighs. It’s not an easy question, and the answer isn’t any easier. “I don’t know, Monty.”

They sit in silence, listening to the static, interspersed with the voice of Abby Griffin, message transmitting on a loop, waiting for an answer that might never come. It’s not long before they hear the shouting from just outside the drop ship, and quickly shut off the radio. No need to cause any more commotion. Clarke rushes in with Jasper, aided by Wells, the parachute having come in handy as a makeshift stretcher.

“Is he—” Monty’s prepared for the worst, but he’s delicate… Raven worries about him, even now, when they’ve only known each other for less than a day. She’s spent enough time with him to know this would break him.

Clarke responds, making quick work of setting up a field to work. “He’s alive, but I need boiled water and strips of cloth for bandages — as clean as you can find.”

Wells nods, and takes off.

Monty’s at his side almost immediately. “He needs surgery, or something!” The panic sets in again, and Raven feels helpless to do anything. She’s not the doctor here.

“I can’t… I don’t even have thread for sutures, let alone a needle… and it would be too dangerous to close it up now. We have no idea what kind of bacteria his wound’s come into contact with. What we _need_ is antibiotics. I could cauterize it, but… I'm not exactly trained in field medicine.”

They don’t have _anything_ they actually need to survive here — and that’s terrifying. Sure, they can grow and hunt food, and build shelter, but weapons? tools? medicine? They’re not exactly trained survivalists — Earth Skills didn’t teach them nearly enough for this. “I'm gonna do what I can, Monty. I— I need you to not talk so I can look at it.”

Wells returns, cloth in hand. “Water’s heating up.” He pauses, as if deciding whether or not to continue; “Bellamy’s making them take off their wristbands for food.”

Raven’s eyes widen, “You took Bellamy?”

“He has a gun. It was worth the risk for the protection.” Bellamy having a gun sounds like the exact _opposite_ of protection.

“You’re just gonna let him do that?” he asks.

“I’m going to help Jasper, Wells,” she says, gentle. “I’d rather starve than let my mom think I’m dead.”

“Clarke,” Monty says, quiet and gentle. “When you’re done, we need to talk.”

 _How did this kid even get arrested in the first place?_ He doesn’t seem like a criminal. In fact, most of them don’t. But Monty is so kind, and — _it was the weed, wasn’t it?_ She suppresses a laugh, letting out a slight smile in lieu.

Wells scoffs, leaving. _She puts up with this?_ He may have half a brain for survival instincts, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s the Chancellor’s son. It would do Clarke some good to realize that — though she’s not much better; the daughter of a Council member. It’s only some solace to know that her decisions are part of a collective; that her word is not law.

Raven watches as Clarke bandages Jasper’s wound, with a precision she’s only ever seen from other mechanics and engineers, handing her each strip of fabric as she goes.

It’s a precise dance of pressure and tension, making sure everything’s secured and clean — and it leaves Raven with more appreciation for Clarke’s survival skills. He’d probably be dead if not for her.

Clarke wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead. “He’s stable for now. But without antibiotics… I don’t know what I can do to help.”

“You’ve done what you can,” Raven says, pausing. “We got the radio working. One way. They’re transmitting a message on loop, waiting for a response. If we can let them know we’re still alive down here…”

She shares a glance with Monty. _Don’t tell her yet._

“How long do you think until we can respond?”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Monty sighs. “The only way we have of transmitting anything is through these bracelets. But they completely lose power when we take them off, or, we’re guessing, vitals stop for a certain amount of time, but I’d… rather _not_ test that theory.”

“So that’s it?”

Raven nods. “The only way we can send any signals is through the bracelets,” she reiterates, not breaking eye contact with her.

Clarke is silent, and Raven knows she’s smart enough to figure it out on her own. “ _God._ ” But she _won’t_ do it. She doubts, even for her mother. This is a girl who leads, who seeks out logic, and makes sure that her choices lead to good — she can’t, with a clear conscience, make this decision. Raven isn’t sure she would be able to, either.

“You should hear this, Clarke,” Monty says; it’s too late for Raven to stop him from showing her, but it was stupid to think they would be _able_ to hide it from her.

Monty tunes the radio, and the older Griffin’s voice pierces the static, the same repeating message; a hopeful call into the unknown.

“What have you done to try and get the bracelets to stay powered?”

“Nothing? But I don’t think it’s possibl—”

“ _Try harder._ ” She can’t parse the emotion on Clarke’s face as her hand darts to the tuner, removing it from the coil and silencing the already faint radio. “This doesn’t leave this room. Any of it.” _You’ve already seen what they’ve done to make the Ark think we’re dead._

Raven will figure her out eventually, she swears it.


	3. Chapter 3

“The Grounders cauterized the wound. He’s lucky. It would’ve been much worse if I had to do it. He would’ve needed a blood transfusion, and…” _And they have no viable way of doing that._ She sighs, checking under the bandages again. “This looks infected, he could be septic. Monty, Raven, any progress?”

Monty responds, bluntly, “That would be a firm no.”

Clarke frowns. “My mother would know what to do.”

“Not with the garbage we have.” Raven chuckles; she still holds some disdain for both of them, especially with how _pretentious_ Princess Clarke is, despite her usefulness.

“How’s he doing?” Wells’s voice comes from behind them.

Clark snaps back with sarcasm; “How does it look like he’s doing, Wells?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help.”

“Right. You want to help? Hold him down.” She sticks her knife into the coals, and Wells does.

“I’m not gonna like this, am I?” Monty asks, and Raven almost wants to cover his eyes so he doesn’t have to see it.

Jasper’s screams pierce her ears, even worse than they have been the past few nights. Clarke tries; she tries so hard — too hard — and her naiveté is kind of… refreshing. Her eyes lock with laser precision on his wound, yet she still has complete awareness of the room and people around her. She gestures for Raven to come closer, precisely in her direction.

“Help me hold him still. I need to cut away the infected flesh.”

She can’t figure out how Clarke manages to look so intensely at something so visceral. Raven can barely manage a glance in his direction without cringing. She keeps her gaze trained on Monty, who can’t seem to look away, as she helps Clarke.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Octavia climbing the ladder, coming to Jasper’s side. “Stop it! You’re killing him.”

“No, she’s trying to save his life!” Monty yells back.

Bellamy’s behind them; “She can’t.”

Wells immediately stands up to him, wedged firmly between him and Clarke. “Back off.”

Clarke doesn’t turn to face him as she speaks, “We didn’t drag him through miles of woods just to let him die.”

“Kid’s a goner. If you can’t see that, you’re deluded. He’s making people crazy.”

She looks up — not at him, but straight forward: “Sorry if Jasper’s an inconvenience to you, but this isn’t the Ark. Down here, every life matters.”

“Take a look at him. He’s a lost cause.”

Still refusing to meet his gaze, she turns to Octavia, at her side. “Octavia, I’ve spent my whole life watching my mother heal people. If I say there’s hope, there’s hope.” “This isn’t about hope, it’s about guts. You don’t have the guts to make the hard choices. I do. He’s been like this for three days. If he’s not better by tomorrow, I’ll kill him myself.” And he’s right, as much as Raven would hate to admit it. Not that they should kill Jasper — but that Clarke’s not hardened enough for a world like this, not like he is. (And how wouldn’t he be? He hid his sister from the world for sixteen years, who knows what he had to do to keep her safe?) He signals to his sister, “Octavia, let’s go.”

She responds, in earnest, “I’m staying here,” and he leaves without another word.

Monty scoffs, letting out his feelings as soon as Bellamy’s disappeared down the ladder. “Power-hungry, self-serving jackass. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. No offense.” He nods toward Octavia, who shrugs. Doesn’t he, though? He came down here _for her_.

As the room settles, Raven notices the patch of fabric Clarke holds in her hand, coated in something red; not blood.

“Whatever this stuff is, it has to have had antibiotic properties. There’s no way he would still be alive without something medicinal.”

Wells walks back towards her, standing down from his position of defence. “Let me take a look. Before you refuse my help, remember who aced botany in Earth Skills.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Monty calls, “remember who grew up on Farm Station?”

Wells shoots him a glance, but Clarke continues, the tension between them going unnoticed. _He’s trying to get back on her good side, clearly._ It makes Raven wonder what he could’ve possibly done to incur such harshness from her; she’s done nothing but brush him off since they landed on the ground. Weren’t they supposed to be best friends? The Prince and Princess of the Ark?

She hands the patch to Monty. “The Grounders used it as a poultice. I’m thinking a tea might be even more effective if we can figure out what it is.”

“It’s seaweed,” Monty declares, unceremoniously.

“Right. Well, then there must be a water source nearby.”

Wells can’t help chiming in: “Yeah, it would have to have a slow current, lots of rocks.”

“And the water would be reddish — I… I know where it is. We passed it the first day.” Monty’s eyes widen in realization.

Clarke gets up without hesitation, heading toward the ladder. “All right. Let’s go.”

Wells follows directly behind her, and Raven and Monty follow suit, Octavia hurrying to the front to stand with Clarke as they walk through camp. The second she notices her, she stops. “Octavia,” she sighs, “I have enough problems with Bellamy already. I don’t need to add getting his sister hurt to that list. What I _do_ need is for you to look after Jasper while we’re gone.”

She pouts, crossing her arms, but giving up; she knows Clarke’s right.

They walk into the woods, Monty and Raven side by side, trailing behind Clarke and Wells. Raven tries — she does — not to listen into their conversation, but it’s hard when Wells keeps picking the most inopportune times and places to start his Clarke-should-forgive-Wells-campaign. “You know, you should, uh, really rethink this whole hating me thing. It’s not just the Grounders. We’re surrounded by criminals. We need each other. We’re gonna be friends again.”

Clarke doesn’t even spare him eye contact; “You got my dad killed. Not possible.”

 _That… that would do it._ She doesn’t blame Clarke. The more she sees of Wells, the more he shows he’s just what she expected: the stuck up son of the Chancellor.

“This is Earth, Clarke. Anything’s possible.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Wells,” she says, curt.

Their walk is silent for a little while longer, until Monty steps on something loud; Raven recognizes the sound as metal. He takes another step forward, the metal clanging again with the force. As he uncovers the leaves and branches covering the object, Raven’s eyes go wide.

“What is it?” Clarke asks, peering over.

“It’s an old automobile… a van, I think.” There has to be _something_ here she can use, right? Even if there’s not… how _cool_ would it be to see such a commonplace feat of engineering; to take it apart, see how it works?

“Come on, guys. This thing’s been here a hundred years. All right? It can wait. Jasper can’t.”

Raven sighs, hating that she’s right. She helps Monty cover it back up, and begrudgingly returns to the trail, approaching a rocky lake.

“So, what does this seaweed look like?”

Wells points to something red in the middle of the lake. “Like that. That thing that bit Octavia, how big was it?”

“It was… big.”

“So I’m guessing just walking in and grabbing it is out of the question?” Raven asks. Octavia’s wound looked pretty nasty — she was in better shape that Jasper, but geez. She did _not_ want to stick around long enough to find out what that creature could do if no one had been there to pull her out. And that’s when Clarke walks straight into the water, wading in up to her waist, and gathering as much of the seaweed as she can hold, and dragging it back to shore. “Or… not.” So, she has some guts at least.

Just as she reaches the edge of the water, there’s a swarm of birds, squawking, and heading directly toward them — they duck just in time.

Wells surveys their surroundings again, before saying — rather welcome — “Let’s get out of here.”

A loud horn sounds through the air, coming from further into the woods.

“Grounders?” Clarke guesses.

“It could be a war cry.”

“It has to be a signal for something,” Raven says.

Almost comically, that’s when the giant cloud of fog comes over the horizon into view, swirling and angry, yellow-tinged.

“I don’t think that’s good,” Monty says, quiet, eyes wide.

Clarke yells, shoving the seaweed into Wells’s pack, “Run. Run!”

It might just be the best idea Raven’s heard from her so far. They take off back into the woods, following the trail as fast as their legs can carry them, but the cloud of fog is faster, encroaching on their lungs. It’s a deep burn, filling her chest with fire, and a fight to survive. They’re all coughing as Monty shouts, recognizing the area, the horns still sounding in the distance: “The overturned van!”

She helps him uncover the vehicle, pulling everyone inside.Yanking off her jacket, she instructs the others, “We have to cover up all the openings!”

As soon as she’s sure the van is sealed off, Raven sinks to the ground, trying to catch her breath. The horns still blow, the only sound remaining of the chaos.

“Jasper can’t wait much longer. We should just make a run for it.”

“Outrun a cloud of… acid fog?” Raven asks, raising an eyebrow at her. She takes her elbow to the window, polishing off the layers of a near-century’s worth of grime. It’s dirty, but she can still make out the yellow tinted air outside. “It’ll be better for Jasper if we make it back _alive_.”

Clarke seems to take the loss, sitting down next to Wells against the side of the van.

“See if there’s anything we can use, Monty. I doubt any of it’s in great condition, but it might beat what we have back at camp.”

He nods, and Raven hears him rummaging around, one of the car’s compartments opening with a pop.

They all look up, Clarke’s eyes narrowing. “Is that…”

“That is… some finely aged whiskey. Better than any moonshine Jasper and I ever whipped up in agro. Not that I would know—”

He stutters, and Raven laughs, standing and taking the bottle from him, “Relax, Green. No one’s here to tell on you.” She takes a swig, feeling the burn down her throat; it’s comforting, almost, something familiar in a situation so foreign — a much nicer burn than the one waiting for them outside. She offers it to Clarke and Wells, as a peace offering, if nothing else.

Wells just stares, “Alcohol’s toxic.” _Buzzkill._

She shrugs. “So’s the air, apparently. Might as well enjoy it.”

“We’ll pass.”

Clarke glances at Wells, eyes like daggers, and silently takes the bottle from Raven, coughing as she takes a swig. _Honestly, good for her,_ Raven thinks. If _anyone_ ever tried to speak for her, she’d see to a proper verbal beatdown. She offers it to Wells, who pushes her hand away, visibly frustrated, even though _she’s_ the one that has the right to be. So Clarke hands it back to Raven, who passes it to Monty.

He takes a sip, wincing as it goes down.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“Smooth,” Monty says, “And… full of alcohol.”

“It better be,” Raven scoffs, making her way over to the front of the van where Monty found the liquor. She could definitely use most of the parts; the radio, especially. Anything’s an upgrade from their current setup.

Wells helps her dislodge the radio from its casing; she stuffs it and some extra wiring into her bag. He’s still sober, while Clarke and Monty take turns getting progressively more tipsy. And hell, there’s nothing else to do — the slight buzz she had from her one sip is entirely gone — so she sits down next to Monty, and reaches over. The bottle is almost empty, probably only enough for each of them to have one more drink. But… they seem like they’ve had more than enough of their fair share; Raven polishes off the bottle with a shudder and a smirk.

It’s _hours_ of checking outside, sighing, and realizing the fog has barely dissipated. Mostly in silence.

Buzzed as she is, Clarke can’t stop her hero complex from showing: “It’s been hours. Jasper…”

“Octavia’s watching him, right? He’ll be okay.” Wells says; the sober voice of reason.

“While we’re on the subject, why is it that everyone thinks me wanting Jasper to not die is a bad thing? Like I’m such a downer,” She laughs, “I can be fun. You think I’m fun, right?”

Clarke’s looking at her. Raven keeps her mouth shut, and leans her head against Monty’s shoulder, trying to block out the noise from her already pounding head. She sure is… _something_.

Luckily Wells answers so she doesn’t have to. “You’re fun. You… you remember that time…”

Clarke glares at him, “Remember that time you betrayed me and got my father executed? Yeah, I remember. Where were we? _Fun._ Well, since you brought it up, and I didn’t, because _I don’t want to talk about it_ , what were you thinking?”

His lips are pursed, and his hands folded, trying not to look at her. “I made a mistake, Clarke.”

She scoffs, “‘ _I made a mistake, Clarke_.’” She’s on the verge of tears, sniffling and trying her best not to let it out. “Not good enough.” It quickly turns to anger; “You know, I bet you couldn’t wait to run to daddy. Tell him everything so that he’d finally believe you were the perfect son he always wanted.”

Wells’ outburst is sudden, and rings in Raven’s ears. “What do you want me to say?!”

“I want an explanation!”

“Hey, normally I’d tell you to take your lovers’ quarrel elsewhere…” It’s mean, but she’s drunk, she _wishes she were drunker_ , and drunk Clarke is even more annoying than sober Clarke, which is an impressive feat. And now she’s _completely_ forgotten the rest of her thought. _Screw her and her stupid, pretty face, and stupid… whatever._ “But, you know, you could actually spare me some respect. I’m not a machine, I just work on them. I know it might be hard for you to tell because you’re so used to getting your way that everyone may as well be programmed to serve you, _Princess_.”

“Whoa, what?” Clarke’s eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms; Wells entirely forgotten.

She sits up, pulling herself up to cross her legs and lean towards Clarke. “You don’t talk or listen to me unless it benefits you. _Fix the radio, Raven, it’s not like we’re on a planet no one has set foot on in almost a century with only ancient and/or scorched electrical parts to use!_ I _know_ we need them. But you need a reality check.” If the air outside weren’t toxic, Raven would storm off; unfortunately, nothing seems to be in her favor here — and she’s more drunk than she thought.

“Hey.” Monty grabs her shoulder; which is somewhat grounding. “My rapidly-forming headache would much appreciate if we continued this conversation in the morning when we’re not shitfaced.”

Raven appreciates the out — she was digging a hole that got deeper with every word she uttered. And sleep would be a blessing at this point. Clarke and Wells’s tumultuous relationship evokes a lot of bad memories and confusion, and it makes her empathize with Clarke; no matter how much she wants to hate her, the world keeps giving her reasons not to.

Clake shakes her head, and rests her head on her balled-up jacket. Out of the corner of her eye, Raven sees Wells eyeing the empty bottle on the floor. _Bet he’s wishing he’d taken us up on that._

Sleep comes far easier than it has the past few days; whether that’s the alcohol or the exhaustion setting in is anyone’s guess. Despite that, she somehow wakes up even less rested (on the bright side, she’s managed to escape the remnants of last night without a hangover) — the harsh sunlight seeping into her vision as Clarke awakens them all by opening the door to the van.

“The fog’s cleared. Come on. Let’s go. Jasper’s waiting.”

Her body aches all over from sleeping on the floor of the car — even worse than the hard ground back at camp — but she stretches out, grabs her jacket and bag, and pushes forward.

The woods are gorgeous, more than she ever expected from pictures. The clearing they’d landed in was surrounded by trees, sure, but walking through is something entirely different. In every direction, as far as she can see; nothing but a sea of green, up to the sky. Clarke leads them, Wells following just behind her. The tension between them is still quite palpable, which is why she guesses they aren’t walking together or talking. He drops back, and glances towards Raven and Monty.

“You two have some pretty serious history, huh?” She asks, unable to help being curious about their entire _deal_.

“Not like that… it’s just…”

“Complicated? Yeah, man.”

“It’s not complicated. She hates me,” he shrugs, sighing.

She’s not sure when she decided to start defending Clarke, but considering what he did… “She has _every_ right to.”

He shakes his head, hands in his pockets, and jogs to catch up with her.

Monty looks at her; “That was _something_.”

“ _She_ sure is. I don’t know what I expected from her under the influence, but it definitely wasn’t _that_.”

“I could say the same thing for you,” he chuckles, and she shoves him to the side with a laugh.

“Better to get the anger out of my system,” she shrugs.

“What are we gonna do?”

“About…?”

“Any of this… all of it? The radio, food, leadership? The fact that this planet seems to still very much want to kill us?”

The radio parts will help, although she’s not sure how much. Hell, though, she’s Raven _goddamn_ Reyes and she’s not giving up. That isn’t who she is. “We’re gonna do what we can. The parts from the—”

A high-pitched scream comes from ahead of them, and Clarke barely leaves time for a response to her question of “Who was that?” before she takes off running, Wells not far behind. Raven drags Monty along, following them back towards camp.

“Did you ever stop to think maybe we shouldn’t be running _towards_ the screaming?” Monty’s out of breath, putting all his energy into keeping up with her, but apparently a snarky question is of equal importance.

“Fuck,” Raven breathes, trying to draw enough air into her lungs, stopping just behind the crowd. One of the kids she barely recognizes (only that Octavia seemed interested in him) is on the ground, screaming in pain. She’s not the doctor here, but she’s spent enough time around chemicals as an engineer to recognize the physiological effects of acidic gases. _This is chemical warfare._ It’s a miracle they made it into that van.

The little girl slips a knife from her pocket into Bellamy’s hand, and speaks to him quietly. She’s not sure how she feels about giving the kids weapons — especially without knowing what landed them down here. He takes it from her, and looks up at his group of hunters; “Go back to camp.” His gaze passes over Clarke as they retreat, landing on the girl, still standing next to him. “You too, Charlotte.”

She heads off in the same direction, and Bellamy kneels to talk to the injured boy. Clarke approaches him, crouching down to examine the boy. They’re talking, but quiet and far enough away that she can’t quite make out their hushed conversation.

Raven turns to Monty, leaning against a tree, facing away from… everything going on. “You okay?”

“We could’ve died back there.”

She bites her lip. “Yeah.” Monty still stares out in the distance, clearly shaken up — and she can’t blame him. Clarke catches her gaze, still attending to the boy with Bellamy’s assistance; she looks over his shoulder, making direct eye contact with Raven, and nods her head in the direction of camp.

Whatever those two decide, it’s better if Monty doesn’t see it.

“Let’s go, Monty.” She extends a hand, helping him up off the ground.

“What about—”

“Clarke’s got it under control. And Jasper needs our help.” At least _half_ of it’s the truth.

They come back to a near-mutiny of the dropship. Octavia comes out of the dropship, disheveled hair and wide eyes. “Where’s Clarke?”

“With your brother. They should be back soon with the medicine.”

She stands up taller, looking past Raven, “They’re here. Stay with Jasper — seriously, Murphy wasn’t kidding.” Octavia hasn’t even finished her sentence as she runs to meet her brother.

They sit down in the dropship, ignoring the chaos outside, for once. It’s nice to have a few moments of (relative) silence.

“He’s dead, isn’t he.” Monty says, more of a statement than a question; still—

“I think so,” Raven answers, honest.

He grabs his bag off the ground, taking out a familiar bottle. “I was saving this for a time we really needed it… seems as good as any.” Raven narrows her eyes — the whiskey was _gone_ — she polished off the last of it. “What? I wanted to save at least some for Jasper!” He laughs, and hands the bottle over to her after having a sip for himself.

She drinks, eyes watering from the burn, as Octavia walks in, and takes the bottle from her, without a single word. She sits down haphazardly, and lifts the bottle to her lips, wincing at the taste. “Disgusting,” she sighs, “Love it.”

Raven _almost_ laughs. She must not have taken it well.

“Can I, uh… get a hit of that?” The voice is weak and scratchy, one Raven doesn’t completely recognize, only that it’s come from the opposite side of the room.

“Jasper!” Monty smiles, hopping onto the table he’s lying on without hesitation and crouching at his side.

“You _might_ want to try something… a little less wild.” Raven grabs the canister of water, helping him sit up a bit to drink.

Monty grabs his hand, beaming from ear to ear. It’s the first time she’s seen him _really_ happy; everything else has been a consolation prize.

“So… was that a dream, or did I get speared?” Jasper asks, looking around at the lot of them.

Clarke clamors up the ladder; “You’ll have a very impressive scar to prove it.”

He’s still so far out of it, he may as well be back up on the Ark. “My savior.” “Thank you for not dying. I don’t think I could’ve taken that today.”

“I’ll try not to die tomorrow, too, if that’s cool.” _It would be preferable._ He nods toward Octavia, “Oh, hello,” before falling back asleep — and god, she could do with a good night’s sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still not sure i'm happy with this! what the fuck ever!!! just excited to get past this entire setup and actually get into some *real* canon divergence


	4. Chapter 4

Clarke greets her with a knife in her face. Raven steps back, reflexes kicking in, just as she recognizes her.

“Sorry. We need you back at camp. It’s not safe out here, anyways.” Not after… “Monty had an idea about how to contact the Ark. He wants to try something else to keep them live.” Clarke doesn’t respond, so she adds, “I’m sorry… about Wells.”

She glances back at the ground behind her. “He let me hate him. _He let me hate him_ for months, so I wouldn’t hate my mother.” _What does her mother have to do with—_ “She’s the one that got my father killed.” Not Wells — and that changes everything Raven’s ever perceived about him, not to mention their entire dynamic. He cared for her so much that he took the fall — _if only Finn had cared that much_.

There’s nothing Raven can say to make any of this better — it’s already fucked up beyond recognition; it has been since the second they breached the atmosphere.

“I just wish there was something I could do. To tell her I know, or, make her feel what I’m…” She stops, thinking for only a moment before storming off past Raven.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To make her feel it,” Clarke declares, heading in the direction of the camp. Raven follows her into the dropship, where she extends her wrist to Monty. And shit, _she’s got guts_ for it.

To his credit, Monty does end up with a working wristband — but not one that’s still sending data. As far as the Ark knows, Clarke’s dead… and that’s exactly what she wanted.

“You think you can do it?” Raven asks after Clarke leaves, without even a glance in her direction.

“I _think_ so. If we can piggyback off the residual power in the wristband, we might be able to hook it up to the dropship and patch ourselves into the Ark. But I need some time to set everything up before we try.”

At least it’s better than any option they’ve had thus far. “Need help?”

“Not right now. I need… I just need to be alone so I can get this right.” It’s a sentiment she respects and knows well.

“What am I supposed to do?” She has to do _something_ — there’s no point in having one of humanity’s best mechanics at your disposal if not.

He shrugs. “Go find Clarke. I’m sure she could use the company.”

It sounds like the _last_ place she wants to be right now. “Her whole self-destructive spiral is kind of depressing.” He glares at her. “Fine.”

She finds Clarke under one of the tents, with Jasper, Octavia, and Bellamy, the three gathered around her. Clarke looks to her, expecting a response.

“Monty’s working on it.”

Clarke nods, looking back to the three of them. “This knife was made of metal from the dropship.”

“What do you mean?” Jasper asks, quiet.

“Who else knows about this?” Bellamy asks, even quieter.

Octavia answers, brows furrowed, “No one. We brought it straight here.”

“What’s going on?” Raven asks.

Her answer is straight, to the point: “It means the Grounders didn’t kill Wells. It was one of us.”

“So, there’s a murderer in the camp?” Jasper’s eyes widen — she’s sure he’s not looking for another way to almost die.

“There’s more than one murderer in this camp. This isn’t news. We need to keep it quiet.” He seems almost nonchalant; hands in his pockets.

Clarke goes to leave the tent, quick on her feet, it’s Bellamy that stands in her way. “Get out of my way, Bellamy.”

“Clarke, be smart about this. Look at what we’ve achieved… the wall, the patrols. Like it or not, thinking the Grounders killed Wells is good for us.” They _are_ more safe like this, Bellamy’s right, but if one of their own killed Wells, who’s to say they won’t kill again? Like he said, they’re all criminals in one way or another — some of them for much worse things than others.

“Oh, good for you, you mean,” she scoffs, “What… keep people afraid and they’ll work for you? Is that it?" “Yeah. That's it.” His answer is simple, and immediate. “But it’s good for all of us. Fear of the Grounders is _building_ that wall. And besides, what are you gonna do… just walk out there and ask the killer to step forward? You don’t even know whose knife that is.”

“Oh, really?” She holds up the bent end of the handle to show him. “ _J.M._ John Murphy.”

“Whoa, wait,” Raven says. Sure, he’s a _dick_ , but to kill Wells in cold blood? Jasper, she could explain — some bullshit savior complex about ‘actually putting him out of his misery’, or to save face and keep his reputation up as someone people were afraid of — demands of the people, and what not. He’s not a killer — he’s a coward. “You sure you wanna do it like _this_?”

Apparently, _yes_. Clarke rushes over to him before anyone can stop her, shoving through two other kids to push him. “You son of a bitch!”

They’re on her tail, there just in time to see it, but not to stop it.

He _laughs_ , “What’s your problem?”

“Recognize this?”

She holds up the knife, swiping it away as he tries to grab it. “It’s my knife. Where’d you find it?”

“Where you dropped it after you killed Wells.”

“Where I _what_?” There’s a crowd now. “The Grounders killed Wells, not me.”

She steps even closer to him. “I know what you did, and you’re gonna pay for it.”

He still seems so _collected_ , shrugging the entire thing off as he looks past her, toward Bellamy. “Really? Bellamy, you really believe this crap?”

Raven catches a glance of him; his arms are crossed, face as stoic as ever, and silent.

“You threatened to kill him, we all heard you. You _hated_ Wells.”

“ _Plenty_ of people hated Wells. His father was the Chancellor _that locked us up_.”

“Yeah, but you’re the only one who got in a knife fight with him.”

“Yeah, I didn’t kill him then, either.”

“Tried to kill Jasper, too,” Octavia chimes in from behind her (and she hears a small ‘What?’ from Jasper, clearly unaware of any such thing).

Murphy looks around at the group, “Come on. This is ridiculous. I don’t have to answer to you,” he says, looking directly at Clarke, before stepping away, louder; “I don’t have to answer to anyone.”

“Come again?” Bellamy asks.

He steps in, coming closer, and quieter, “Bellamy, look, I’m telling you, man. I didn’t do this.”

“They found his fingers on the ground with _your_ knife.”

He takes a second, nodding as he processes that information, before leaning in closer to her; too close for comfort. “ _Spacewalker_ , come on, you don’t think I did this, did you?”

“ _I don’t know_ , Murphy,” she bites back through gritted teeth, “You’re a self-righteous, reckless asshole, why not tack on murderer too?”

There’s a pause at that, and Clarke takes the silence to speak up, to the crowd, “Is this the kind of society that we want?” She turns to Murphy, “You say there should be no rules. Does that mean that we can kill each other without punishment?”

Murphy approaches her, cautious, “I already told you. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“I say we float him.” — a voice comes from across the circle, gaining immediate agreement.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Clarke clarifies. _No, you wouldn’t, would you? Too messy; too complicated._

“Why not? He deserves to float. It’s justice.”

“Revenge isn’t justice.”

“It’s justice. Float him!”

It becomes a battle cry as the crowd tries to wrestle Murphy into their grasp, Clarke yelling protest to no avail, no match for the boys holding her back. She sees Octavia step forward, immediately pulled back by her brother, and Raven wants to say something — she does, and she tries, but her voice is no match for the roar of almost a hundred other kids. It doesn’t take more than a minute for them to string him up on a tree, the crowd chanting for Bellamy to set it into action.

“I saw you in the woods with Atom. I know you’re not a killer. Bellamy, don’t do this.” Her voice breaks as she tries to reason with him, “Don’t… Bellamy, _you can’t do this_ , Bellamy.”

And Bellamy kicks the platform underneath him; and this time it’s gone too far. He gets in Clarke’s face, and she actually looks _scared of him_.

So she gets between them. “Who the hell do you think you are, Blake?” she shouts, so loud she barely recognizes her own voice. “You can’t play judge, jury, and executioner!” She turns to the one who started all of this, “Cut him down.”

“I don’t answer to you.”

He pulls a knife on her, and it takes all of her willpower not to flinch or back down. Still, she doesn’t. “ _I’m not asking politely._ Cut. Him. Down.”

“Just stop, okay?” It’s the littlest voice. “Murphy didn’t kill Wells! I did."

He pulls the blade back, and she can finally breathe. It was easier to stand up to people when the worst they could do was hit her. By the time she catches her breath, Murphy’s gasping for air on the ground, and god, she knows how it feels.

Bellamy pulls the three of them back into the tent, as Murphy yells for them to bring her out.

“Why, Charlotte?” he asks, standing close to the girl. She can’t be older than twelve or thirteen.

“Because I was just trying to slay my demons, like you told me!”

“What the hell is she talking about?” Clarke asks. What state was Bellamy in to be giving advice to children?

“She misunderstood me. Charlotte, that is _not_ what I meant.”

Murphy shouts again from outside, “Bring the girl out now!”

“Please don’t let them hurt me.”

Bellamy addresses them now, “If you guys have any bright ideas, speak up.”

“They listen to you, not us, Bellamy,” Raven says. They wouldn’t listen to her when she was screaming at the top of her lungs; they certainly won’t now.

He points at Clarke, “If _she_ had listened to me, those idiots would still be building the wall.”

“You want to build a society, princess? Let’s build a society. Bring her out.” Murphy continues to taunt, looming closer.

Charlotte grabs his arm. “No! Please, Bellamy.”

Bellamy kneels down to talk to her, face to face. “Charlotte, hey, it’s gonna be okay. Just stay with them.” He looks between Clarke and Raven, and leaves the tent. He’s… good with that; it’s entirely incongruent with everything else she’s seen from him. Being good with kids would probably be her _last_ guess on a list of his skills. Just a second ago, he was willing to kill Murphy without hesitation. But when no one else is watching… he _did_ raise his sister.

“We need to _go_ ,” Clarke says.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

They sneak her quietly through camp as Bellamy and Murphy argue, their argument continuing to elevate; there’s a commotion, and Murphy yells out, “Charlotte! Charlotte, I know you can hear me! And when I find you, you are gonna pay!”

She can hear the group still hot on their tail, fanning out across the woods. “Please tell me you have a plan, Raven.”

“No,” she sighs, “But I have an idea. The only people that know about that van are you, me, and Monty. And I don’t know about you, but I doubt Monty’s following their crusade.” _And Wells, but…_

“Good enough.”

Raven takes the lead, trying to get her bearings and a grasp on where exactly they are, and where that _stupid_ van is.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Just because we saved you doesn’t mean you’re forgiven. Got it?” Clarke’s outburst isn’t _loud_ , but it’s worrying. They must have groups all over by now, looking and listening for them. Raven raises a finger to her lips, and waves them over, trying to pry open the door of the van as quietly as possible. She grabs a thick branch, wedging it on the inside of the door. It won’t hold for long, but at least they’ll know if someone’s found them.

Clarke doesn’t speak a single word until Charlotte’s asleep, Raven’s jacket draped over her.

“Fuck,” Raven swears, frustration coming through in her voice. She’s not cut out for this. “She’s just a kid, Clarke.”

“She killed Wells,” she says, bitter.

“I know,” Raven nods.

“If I hadn’t confronted Murphy, none of this would have happened.”

Fair, but… “You didn’t know.”

“Bellamy did.” _But he didn’t know Charlotte would kill Wells._ “We think the Grounders are a threat. Now we’re killing each other? There have to be consequences.”

“Not like this.”

“Not like this,” Clarke echoes.

But then _what_? They’re _kids_. They all are. They’re thieves, and rebels, even _murderers_ , but they’re all just _kids_. They don’t know the first thing about keeping peace and function. “They’ll never listen to us. You saw what happened.”

“You got a knife to your throat.”

“I don’t want to see what else they’ll do, Clarke.”

“We have to get in touch with the Ark. If they know we’re alive down here—”

“Monty’s doing his best. _I’m_ doing my best.”

Clarke nods. “We should get some sleep.”

Raven tries to, she does. It’s not as easy as it is in theory. Her head’s running with thoughts of what happens what they get back; to Charlotte, to them. What happens if Monty’s plan doesn’t work? If they never contact the Ark? She drifts off once or twice, never for long, and it’s Clarke that wakes her up just as she’s finally under.

“Raven. She’s gone.”

She grabs her jacket, and they get the hell out of there. She never wants to see the inside of that stupid car _ever again_.

They follow Murphy’s voice, always loud and present; and the light of the torches, to the edge of the forest. Bellamy’s the only thing standing between Charlotte and Murphy’s army.

“Bellamy, stop!” She turns to Murphy; “This has gone too far. Just… calm down. We’ll talk about this. This time, it’s Clarke who ends up with a blade pressed to her neck. Murphy’s reached his tipping point; “I’m sick of listening to you talk.”

“Let her go,” Bellamy warns.

“I will slit her throat,” The scary part is, Raven actually believes him.

“Murphy, she’s not a part of this.” She tries to step closer, but his grip tightens, and the boys around her move in, the heat of their torches feeling dangerously close.

“Neither are you, _Spacewalker_. Stay the fuck back.”

“Please don’t hurt her,” Charlotte pleads, quiet.

“Don’t hurt her? Okay, I’ll make you a deal. You come with me right now, I will let her go.”

Clarke shakes her head; Bellamy begs her not to. He holds her back — she kicks, and screams. His hands rest on her shoulders, and he looks her in the eyes for a moment before turning back to Murphy. “Murphy, this is _not_ happening.”

“I can’t let any of you get hurt anymore. Not because of me. Not after what I did.”

Clarke yells after her. It doesn’t make a difference. Murphy lets her go the second Charlotte’s foot slips off the edge. It’s raining, and muddy, and the rocks of the cliff are startlingly slick. She rushes the edge, seemingly without a care for the danger; like she could change what happened. Raven carefully pulls Clarke back by her shoulders. “Hey, _hey_ , get back.”

She sits there, stunned, catching her breath, eyes only leaving the ground when Bellamy tackles Murphy. “Bellamy,” she speaks up, “Bellamy, stop, you’ll kill him!”

No one’s doing _anything_ , not even the kids who follow Murphy around like dogs. _She has to do everything for herself around here, doesn’t she?_ Raven musters all her upper body strength to tear them apart, barely succeeding with the size difference and strength between them.

“Get off me, Raven! He deserves to die.”

“No,” Clarke says, towering over him. She finally looks like she has some sort of power. “We don’t decide who lives and dies. Not down here.”

He sits up, brushing the dirt off his face. “So help me God, if you say the people have a right to decide…” “No, no! I was wrong before, okay? You were right,” she admits, “sometimes it’s dangerous to tell people the truth. But if we’re gonna survive down here, we can’t just live by _‘whatever the hell we want’_. We need rules.”

“And who makes those rules?” he asks, standing to meet her gaze, “Huh? You?”

“For now, we make the rules. Okay?” _If the two of them can make peace, there might be hope for us yet…_

“So, what, then? We just take him back and pretend like it never happened?”

“No!” Clarke looks back at Murphy, face bloodied, barely moving on the ground. “We banish him.”

“Get up.” Bellamy hoists him to the ground, and issues a warning: “If I ever catch you near camp, we’ll be back here. _Understand?_ As for the four of you, you can come back and follow me, or go off with him to die. Your choice.”

Unsurprisingly, they chose to come back. She doesn’t agree with any of this — the camp tried to kill Murphy without any questioning. Of _course_ he wanted the same for the person that indirectly almost killed him; made anyone doubt him for a second. He’s impulsive, and, again, reckless. His brain would serve him a lot better if he actually thought before he did anything. He wanted justice — he’s just an idiot. An unwilling agent of chaos.

Even so, the idea of banishment makes her skin crawl. Everything out there — the grounders, the mutated animals, the acid fog. Going outside the camp is practically a death wish. But what else can they do? Clarke’s right. There _have_ to be consequences.

“You okay?” Monty asks her, everything finally at relative peace back inside the dropship.

“I’m alive,” she says, and it’s the truth. She hears the echoes of a conversation she had with Sinclair, back on the Ark. What would he do?

He nods, slowly. He doesn’t know what happened out there, and he doesn’t want to. “Come take a look at this.” She scrutinizes the connections; it’s a long shot. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, Monty. This is all bare-bones wires. No fuses, no protection, _nothing_. We could end up shorting the wristbands, or, even worse, the entire system. We need a backup plan.”

“We have one,” he reminds her.

She shakes her head; she’s seen enough violence for an entire lifetime, just today alone. Nothing on that level needs to be entertained today; there has to be another way. There always is. “Say we do this. Either it works — and that’s unlikely — or it doesn’t. One of two things happens. Either this wristband dies, or they _all_ do. Are you willing to risk that?”

He gulps, “No.”

“We need more parts. Is there anything we can use from the radio? Or the van? It’s more important that they can hear us.”

“This _is_ those parts.”

“Then we need to keep looking. There’s got to be more than that van that survived.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you would think raven would *benefit* them being able to contact the ark; not when she only has 100-year-old and fried parts to work with, whoops! gonna have so much fun restructuring the next two episodes >:) once i am free of taking conversations word for word from canon it's over for you bitches; real fun starts when i weasel in lines in similar situations solely to cause Pain ;^)


	5. Chapter 5

Monty gives Raven a rusty old pocket knife he found in some rubble in the woods. It’s got a blade, a wrench, and a screwdriver, and it’s easily the best thing she’s seen since they hit the ground. She doesn’t let it leave her sight, hooking the dirty clip to one of the belt loops on her jeans.

She knows there’s a hunting party out somewhere — but the camp feels empty, only a few people sitting around the campfire. No sign of Clarke anywhere, or even Bellamy or Octavia. Jasper’s the only familiar face in a crowd of ~~a hundred~~ ~~ninety-nine~~ a hundred.

Jasper looks quite an order of magnitude better than he did since Raven saw him last, only a few hours ago, and it’s… impressive. There were more than a few moments where she really believed he wouldn’t make it. “Where’s Clarke?” Monty asks, approaching the heat of the fire, extending his hands to warm up.

The blonde next to Jasper responds, “I saw her packing some things with Bellamy earlier. I think they went out to look for more supplies for camp?”

Raven shares a glance with Monty, who quickly turns back to the girl. “Thanks, Harper.”

She follows him back to the dropship; it’s morphed into a sort of home base for their medical and electronic supplies, as well as theirs and Clarke’s workstation for anything technical or requiring a doctor’s attention. At least now, it’s much more organized than it was when they were desperately trying to save Jasper’s life.

“Don’t worry.”

 _I wasn’t, but now that you mention it…_ “His ego’s gonna get someone killed. Look, you saw what happened with Murphy.” Whatever vulnerability he showed with Charlotte wasn’t the persona he put forward as a leader — he may have good intentions at heart, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s too blinded by his own image and taking control to think about the consequences. At least he’s better than Murphy in the fact that he seems to care about _someone_ other than himself.

“Yeah, but didn’t you say they were working together now?”

“Apparently.” _Reluctantly._ “I don’t know. I don’t trust him.”

“Clarke seems to.”

“No,” she laughs, eyebrows raised, “She just wants to screw him.” It seems to confuse the hell out of Monty. “You could cut the tension between those two with a knife,” she scoffs, “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” Hell, he walks around shirtless half the time, and he’s built like a brick house. Raven has eyes, but his attractiveness is _kind of_ diminished by the shit he’s done. Not that it seems to bother Clarke.

“I’m not exactly looking for… that?”

“You should; it’s better than any entertainment we had on the Ark.” As much as they had, it was always secondary to educational texts and reference books in the eyes of the people who programmed it (which, she supposes, makes sense, and she’s thankful for the engineering resources), and there were only so many times you could watch the same basketball or football game. It gets predictable, and it gets old. This… it’s like the exact brand of overstated drama she’d see in the old ‘soap operas’ (Neither of them knew why they were called that, but Raven just saw it as a catchall cue for bad acting, writing, and camera work) her mother used to watch; but actually _fun_.

“God, what _happened_ last night?”

She suspects he’s asking about the two of them, specifically, but… it’s not like it’s anything in particular. Just what she’s noticed the past few days. So she goes for a general recap: “He was wailing on Murphy and it was getting pretty ugly. I pulled them apart, and Clarke talked him down,” she shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Then she suggested they make the rules together. It wasn’t exactly formal.”

“He agreed, just like that?”

She raises her eyebrows, “Yeah,” and something seems to click in his head. Plus, he had to. It was either that or anarchy. “Anyways, there wasn’t much else either of them could’ve done. _Which is why_ I still can’t trust him.” It’s, of course, that moment that Bellamy and Clarke decide to walk into the dropship. “Oh,” she smiles, letting out a sarcastic chuckle, “Speak of the devil.”

Monty nods slowly. “We’ve reached the point where I genuinely don’t know who that was directed at.” Raven laughs, kicking her feet up on one of the seats.

Clarke shoots a look at Bellamy, “Ignore her.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t kill each other,” Raven scoffs, smirking. “What exactly was it you were doing?”

“ _If you must know_ , I mentioned that you were looking for more electrical parts and he said he knew a place we might find some.”

Of course, all it took was _her_ asking — honestly, Raven should’ve seen it coming. She eyes Bellamy. “You didn’t think it was worth mentioning when you first found it?”

He crosses his arms. “I thought it would be smart to keep it hidden in case we needed somewhere safe.”

“What can you do with a walkie talkie?” Clarke asks, clearly deflecting from Bellamy’s choice to keep it from everyone (but especially her — that’s a deep cut if she thought she could trust him; she can’t).

That gets Raven’s attention. She glances at Monty, then back to Clarke, sitting up fully. “ _Everything_. You got one?”

“Back at the bunker. Pack’s full of tools and clothes. I tried to fit it in but—”

“Protecting ourselves is more important. It’s okay,” Monty says.

“We’re making a second trip. There’s more stuff we could use. I just wanted to make sure it would help you before I wasted any space on it.” She sets down her pack, glancing at Raven. “I brought back some radio parts already, similar to the other ones I found. They might help you get it working.”

 _So she still doesn’t want to let Bellamy in on their little radio. Smart._ If she can keep him at arm’s length, it’ll make Raven’s job that much easier. Don’t get her wrong — she likes a challenge. But Bellamy Blake is not one she wants to take on… just yet. She nods, playing into it. “Yeah. We can try. No promises, though.”

Clarke shares a look with Bellamy, before looking back towards Raven. “Um, don’t mention the bunker to anyone else. He’s right, we might need somewhere safe.” Before she can respond, they duck out together, leaving Clarke’s bag.

It’s mostly junk to them, but there’s a few good finds; a pocket knife Monty snags for himself, a full sized screwdriver, hammer, and socket wrench, buried among a collection of switchblades and clothes. The other radio parts are such shit that she can barely wait to get her hands on that walkie talkie. The bunker can’t be that far, because they’ve barely finished sorting through the stuff by the time Clarke makes her way back.

She looks exhausted, and sets down her pack on one of the seats to rummage through for what Raven needs. She dumps out the bag, a confused look growing on her face as she feels around inside. Raven takes a closer look; some art supplies, clearly for herself, some more clothes, but nothing electronic to be seen. Her eyes meet Raven’s. “I swear, Raven. I had it.”

She can feel the frustration bubbling up. They can’t have come _this_ far, _this_ close, for nothing. “Then where is it?”

“Could someone have taken it?” Clarke asks, quiet, almost as if to herself.

Monty chuckles, trying at least to make light of it, “What would they want with _one_ walkie talkie?”

“The only other person that had my bag was…” A look of realization washes over her face. “I should’ve known. I should've known he'd…”

“What do you mean?” Raven asks.

“He spent every single minute since we landed making sure no one on the Ark finds out we're alive."

“Huh,” Monty hums, thinking.

 _Bellamy_. Raven knew he was trouble. You can’t trust someone who only cares about one thing; especially not to lead a group in a crisis. “Whatever he did to make it down here with his sister,” Raven says, dread setting in. “They wouldn’t have just let him in.”

“The gun— it came from the Ark. Do you think—” Monty starts off, silenced by a defensive Clarke.

“No…” (though her doubt in her words shines through) “I don’t.”

“ _Yeah, well I do,_ ” Raven scoffs, pushing her way past Clarke and out of the dropship in a hurry. She scans the camp quickly for him, gaze lingering on two taller boys with dark, slicked back hair, though neither of them are him. Too pale; too skinny. _And there’s one less now,_ she reminds herself. She turns back, not at all surprised to be met with blonde hair and wide eyes.

“Raven, what are you doing?” she asks, grabbing her wrist. Raven shakes her off, frowning.

And that’s when she sees him, out of the corner of her eye, near the edge of camp. “Getting my damn walkie talkie.”

She trails him as he walks, shouting out, voice cracking, “Bellamy!”

“Out of my way,” he sighs, trying to push past her, but she’s a step ahead of him, stepping in his same direction.

She crosses her arms, standing in front of him like a boulder refusing to be moved. “You promised me a walkie-talkie.”

“Not sure I remember those exact words,” he scoffs.

“Clarke said she put it in her bag. You were the only other person that touched it.”

He has the audacity to _smirk_. “Maybe her memory isn’t as good as she thinks it is.”

She shoves him, both hands against his chest, but he barely moves. “Don’t _fucking_ lie to me.”

“Come on, _Spacewalker_.”

Without really thinking, she slips her pocket knife from her belt loop, and holds it up to him. With the height difference, it’s more or less at his chest, but still threatening nonetheless. She knows he did it just to get her riled up; elicit some sort of response (and she hates that she fell into it, but hell, it feels good to even stand up to him in such a small way). “Who’d you shoot to make it down here, huh?”

A look she can’t quite pin down crosses his face, but she barely has time to see his reaction, let alone recognize it. In another move she should’ve expected, Clarke’s there in a flash, getting between him and Raven’s knife. “Both of you, stop it.”

Raven is unrelenting. “Where’s the radio, Bellamy?”

He grits his teeth. “ _I don’t know._ ”

“Do you even _care_ what happens to the people up there?” Clarke asks, and Raven can hear the pain and hurt in her voice. It… _almost_ makes her feel bad for her. They both have at least one person they care about up there… but the fact that it’s _her mother_ that sent them down here really puts a wedge between them in that regard.

“You asked me to help. _I helped_.”

“Fuck,” Raven swears, stepping back and fumbling the clip of her knife back onto her jeans, “ _Fuck!_ ” She pulls Clarke aside. “Tell me how to get there,” she says, hushed, and keeping calm through gritted teeth. She doesn’t know when she got this _desperate_.

It’s a battle she won’t win, even if she tried. Still; “There’s nothing useful left. Old rations, a few pieces of scrap metal.”

“Fine. Which direction haven’t we explored yet?”

Clarke points to the back of camp. “Good enough,” Raven scoffs, and takes Clarke’s bag from her hands. “Monty!” She signals to him, nodding in the direction Clarke told her, “Let’s go.”

He scurries up behind her, having laid witness to her confrontation with Bellamy at a distance. “Where… _exactly_ are we going?”

She’s not sure; all she knows is she’s not going back until she finds something they can use.

They walk, and they walk, Raven keeping track of their path by occasionally marking x’s on rocks with her knife (Monty had remarked, _‘It’s scary how much you love that thing’_ ). It seems hopeless, and she’s fully aware of that fact. But they’ve (literally) come this far, and there’s no sense stopping.

“Raven,” Monty sighs, but she keeps walking along the natural trail (there _has_ to be more cars or bunkers; caves, or… _something_ ). “We’ve been looking for _forever_. It’s getting dark.” _Silence._ “Seriously, we need to think about trying the radio. It’s useless to keep looking for parts that may or may be out there and may or may not work.”

“—If it doesn’t work, we’re all dead.”

“…We’re dead anyways if we can’t find another way.” Morbid, but the hard truth, she supposes. All the more reason to keep going. “So we keep looking.”

Monty, not one to protest past a point, sighs again, and jogs to catch up with her. It’s another few minutes of walking in silence, both of them too afraid to break it, until; all of a sudden, Monty grabs her wrist, pulling her back, entirely unexpected and out of character. She completely expects to come face to face with some animal, or grounder, or… _whatever_ … but Monty just looks at her, an unmistakably bright glint in his eye. _She knows that look._ “What if… we used more bracelets?”

“What do you mean?” She asks.

“You were worried about a short from the system trying to draw too much power from just the one wristband, but what if we used more of them?”

_Holy shit, he’s a genius._

They _run_ back to camp, finding Clarke, alone, in the top of the dropship. It’s a sorry scene; hopelessly listening to her mother’s message on repeat. Monty clears his throat behind her, and she fumbles to switch it off, hiding it back under the seat, further disguised by a sheet of metal from the wall. “Anything?” She asks, pushing her hair back behind her ears.

Raven glances at the radio, hidden from view, then back at her. She’s about to… ask if she’s alright, but Monty starts to speak, and just as quickly as it came, the sentiment passes.

“No… but _yes_ ,” Monty stumbles through his words, shrugging.

She narrows her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“I had an idea. We just need more wristbands.”

Clarke gestures to the pile of discarded ones, all pried open, most warped or darkened from the fire. “We’ve got plenty.”

“ _Working_ ones,” he clarifies.

“There weren’t many that didn’t… take them off that first night,” Clarke answers, dancing around the fact that it was Bellamy’s doing. “Maybe two, three? Not counting me.”

He looks toward Raven. “What do you think?”

“Better than one.” Even one more is _double_ the power than what they’re working with currently. She’s a risk taker, and she knows when to fold, but doubling — possibly even tripling those odds — is enough to push forward. Raven nods to Clarke. “Can you find them?”

“Yeah.” She leaves them alone, at least for now, to try and get the radio in some sort of working order. They work in silence, as usual; Monty prepping for the wristbands, and Raven strengthening the radio’s signal with the parts Clarke scavenged from the bunker.

“You wonder what they're doing up there?” he asks, suddenly. “If they’re praying just as hard for an answer?”

Raven looks up, as if her recognizing their presence up there makes a difference; everyone thinks they’re dead already. “They’re running out of oxygen. Sending us down here was their _Hail Mary_.”

“…You believe in any of that?”

She chuckles. “Nah. I’m too cynical for that.”

That at least gets him to laugh. Monty’s the kind of kid that she suspects flew under the radar on the Ark (save for his little side hustle), in terms of the social sphere — hell, she barely remembered him.

“Do you?” She asks. He’s quiet, and book smart, and doesn’t seem like the kind of person that would believe in some sort of afterlife or higher power… something about logic and reason, or science. After all, she’s a mechanic who’s fixed a lot of broken things — and _how could a god not piece his broken creation back together_?

“I believe…” he sighs, “I guess I believe that there’s good. Somewhere out there. There has to be, for any of this to mean anything.”

She thinks of the version of herself that could hear such optimism, and believe it wholeheartedly. To hear that the world is kind, and love, and _fair_ , and have no reason to believe it’s not true. Things were easier then. Still, she’s not sure she’d go back to that sort of ignorance. “But what if it doesn’t? What if we’re just… here, and not?”

He bites his lip. She worries she’s crushing his spirit with all this nihilism — she doesn’t want to be the person that turns Monty actual-friggin-ray-of-sunshine Green into a depressed mess down here. But he continually proves her wrong: “Then we may as well _make_ it good.”

Clarke, as always, has impeccable timing with her entrances. In the end, they end up with two more working bracelets; Monty wires them together, to the radio, and hooks it all up to the ship’s communications system. He takes a step back, admiring his handiwork. “You wanna do the honors?”

He’s being nice, sure, and normally she’d refuse; let him see out his creation. But this is life or death — and she doesn’t want him blaming himself if it all goes south — which it very well might. “Yeah. Why not?”

Just as she connects the last wire, the ship’s intercom button comes to life, a dim glowing red.

“Oh my god,” Clarke remarks in wonder, rushing over from her seat on the other side of the room to see it up close. “It worked?”

“If by _worked_ , you mean didn’t fry the entire thing and/or possibly start a fire, yeah. We still don’t know if it transmits,” Raven explains, trying not to show her annoyance at Clarke’s optimism. She’s different from Monty; he grew up hopeful in spite of the world around him — she did _because_ of it. “Monty?”

He fumbles to his feet, almost tripping on the spare parts littering the floor where they worked. “I hooked the button up to the sensors on the bracelets, and the transmitters in the bracelets to our radio. If everything works… and they’re still listening… anything we punch in should show up through the vitals system.”

“We’ll be able to talk to them?” Clarke asks.

“No. Morse code, at best. I don’t know it, though,” Raven says, looking to Monty.

He shakes his head.

And then, a quiet voice. “I do.”

So Clarke taps out a message, and they wait.

_And they wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I Got Distracted but now this is here over a month later! Thank y'all so much for the comments!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it is i! surprise bitch! i bet u thought you'd seen the last of me!!! jk ive just done nothing but rewatch buffy for the past 2 months so i have no excuse xoxo bye see u when i see u!

“Hey, kiddo. What do you got there?”

Raven smiles; a toothy grin, visibly missing a tooth. “Old electronics. Earth tech. It’s supposed to play games.” She sets the pieces down on the table, pulling herself up onto the chair with a big jump. “You think we can fix it?”

Sinclair examines her find, holding it up to the light, and laughs, his face full of awe. “I haven’t seen one of these in years… how did you get this?”

She bites her lip. It’s easier to tell him the truth now than try to explain when he pulls it out of her later. “I told some jerk I’d do his homework for a month.”

“These are the life skills they’re teaching 11-year-olds these days?” He sighs, “You could get in serious trouble.”

“I won’t get caught, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t turn in A+ work for a C student.”

Sinclair rolls his eyes. “Smart kid.” He pauses. “Seriously. I won’t always be there to vouch for you.”

Raven crosses her arms. “So can you fix it, or what?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, like it’s obvious, “we can fix it.” She reaches for the gadget, ready to start prying it apart, when Sinclair holds it up just out of her grasp, short as she is. “*If* I get to play first.”

“Fine.”

* * *

She’ll admit, she’s worried about Octavia going missing — the last time someone was, it didn’t end well — but Bellamy’s still as much of a pain in the ass as he’s seemingly always been. And knowing what he might’ve done just to get down here on a ship that was likely to lead to all of their deaths, just to see his sister once more time? Yeah, that makes this all the more terrifying.

“Clarke, I need to do this,” Jasper says. His stupid crush is going to get him killed.

“Dude,” Raven says, trying to empathise, “You got skewered a few days ago. Maybe take it easy for a little while longer.”

Bellamy steps up: “We need all the people we can get.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke raises her eyebrows.

“It’s up to Jasper.”

“I’m going,” he answers; expected.

“See? He’s going.”

“Then I’m going too,” Raven says, without really thinking. And really, *where did that come from*? She’s exhausted, her stomach’s growling from the lack of food, and her feet hurt like hell from all the other trips she’s made out into the forest. This is just signing up for making it all worse — and still, she feels like she has to. Not for a sense of righteousness like Jasper; she’s no knight in shining armor. She’s just a beaten down girl with an arguable god complex and no sense of any real self-preservation. In that right, at least she’s self-aware.

She’s suiting up for the journey with Clarke when Monty almost barrels into them, catching his breath in quick gasps.

“Clarke,” he pants; sweaty and looking like he’s run a marathon, “You—” His gaze darts around the campfire, eyes meeting Bellamy’s among the handful of others looking to see the commotion. “I… had a… breakthrough. About that *idea*.”

Raven glances at Clarke, eyebrows raised, to see if she’s come to the same conclusion. It would be hard not to, when his eyes are so wide and desperate.

He takes off just as quick as he came, and Raven shouts back to Jasper as she follows, “Don’t get yourself killed, idiot.” She’s just close enough to hear the exchange between Clarke and Bellamy as she takes off too:

“We’re leaving in five minutes,” he shouts after her, devoid of any emotion.

“Don’t wait up,” she calls back.

The second he shuts the hatch behind them, the harsh sound echoing through the top of the dropship, Clarke steps up to Monty. “What happened?”

“I— Listen for yourself,” he gestures to the radio.

The voice that comes out of the static is unmistakably that of Marcus Kane; “—using this frequency to send out a last-ditch line of communication. If there’s a chance—”

“Monty, don’t just stand there, give them something!” Raven shouts, louder than she intended.

He flinches, and stands at the intercom button. “What do I say?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Clarke says.

He taps a series of presses into the button; it can’t be more than a single word.

Kane stops mid-sentence, pausing before he speaks again. “Alive? How many of you?” There’s a sense of dread in his voice that Raven can’t quite place, and it scares her.

Monty looks at Clarke. “95,” she answers, entirely calm, before he even has the chance to ask. The fact that she didn’t count Bellamy in that total isn’t lost on Raven — it’s an entirely deliberate choice.

“Who am I speaking to?”

Monty resumes his focus on the red button, the light pulsing with every push.

“What did you say?” Raven asks.

“Clarke.” He cracks a smile, “It’s technically the truth, and we need to speak to your mom, right?”

“I don’t want to. But, yeah,” she sighs.

Static crackles in each of Kane’s words. “Is this the only way you can communicate?”

*Yes,* Monty taps out.   
  
“The other five?”

*Dead.*

“Can you tell me their names?”

*Trina. Pascal. Atom. Charlotte. Wells.*

If he’s feeling any sort of emotion, he doesn’t show it; a constant monotone. “I’ll contact you within the hour with more information. I need to go talk to the council.”

“Wait,” Raven says, and Monty starts another message. “Sinclair. I need to talk to Sinclair.” *He should know I’m still alive.* “He taught me everything I know.”

There’s a long pause, and she worries he hasn’t heard them; that he’s already gone, or something’s broken within her web of wires and connections, and that would be it. She swears, they sit there, waiting to the sound of silence and static for at *least * five minutes, though it feels like hours, tension palpable even in the air between her, Monty, and Clarke.

Finally, there’s a change in the static, and Sinclair’s voice comes to life over the speaker — damaged as it is — yet still a voice she recognizes as familiar. “Raven?” he asks, clearly tentative. “You’re not the only kid down there crazy enough to do this… but you *are* the only one that could do it *right*.”

She smiles, laughing. “Tell him to fuck off.” Monty furrows his brows. “Really.”

*She says fuck off.*

Sinclair laughs heartily a few moments later. “No need to prove yourself, Reyes, your method is as creative as it is entertaining — I’d expect nothing less. And we all know you skipped Earth Skills to put in more hours with me down in Engineering.” He adds, under his breath, “Not that you didn’t practically live there already.”

“He let me.” She can feel Clarke’s eyes on her, though they’re not as judgmental as they’ve felt before. It’s still uncomfortable, letting her see this side of her — all this casual conversation with Sinclair, like nothing’s changed, feels like baring her soul. Sure, she knows her whole deal with Wells, but… she wasn’t any different with him. Raven knows Sinclair brings out an entirely different part of her: and it’s all that’s left of her old life.

“So what’s your setup look like down there?”

It takes a minute for Monty to fully explain; it’s basic at best, and cryptic at worst. *Wristbands send input from ship button. Connect HT parts. Crystal radio to ship speaker.*

“Bold,” Sinclair says, and she can hear his smile. “No microphone from the walkie talkie?”

Monty looks at her for an answer. “There *is* one, but I wasn’t banking on them searching through the frequencies. They had no idea we were still alive,” she explains.

*Yes. You can find frequency?*

“Try it out.”

Raven waits, expecting Monty to continue running the conversation, but he gestures to her, and she steps up to the radio, connecting the microphone from the walkie talkie. “Hello?” she says, more of a question than anything.

Monty nods, signaling her to keep going. It feels dumb to keep talking with no response, especially with him and Clarke looking on in suspense. “Can you hear me?”

There’s still no response, and she knows she should know better. It’ll take longer than two sentences for him to wade through the airwaves to find the right frequency that her shoddy antenna’s broadcasting to. “Sinclair? Are you there?”

“Reyes?”

Somehow, she’s even more relieved than the first time she heard his voice come through the speaker. “Yeah,” she breathes, “Yeah, it’s me.”

* * *

“Hey, kid.” Sinclair’s voice gets her to lift her head, tucked into her knees on the floor of the Skybox. “You wouldn’t believe the strings I had to pull to swing this outside normal visitation.”

If it weren’t for the bars between them, and the fact that Raven’s barely eaten in days, she knows she’d already be squeezing the life out of him in a hug. Still, she wonders if it would’ve hurt less to not have him see her like this. “Sure you’re not a hallucination?” she jokes, cracking a smile.

Sinclair laughs, crossing his arms, “I guess you’ll never know.” His smile falters, brows furrowing. “Are you doing alright? Stupid question, but…”

“I’m alive.”  _ That’s enough for today, right? _

Another plus, depending on the way she looks at it: There’s a hastily, nearly illegibly written note somewhere in the pile of napkins she’s collected, folded neatly among at least five other crumpled, failed attempts at writing one. She worries for a second; maybe the feeling will fade, and she’ll regret her anger — but this is the  _ least _ inflammatory of all the letters she wrote. It’ll have to do. She hands it off to Sinclair once the guard looks away. “I want you to give this to him.”

“Feels like I’m holding a bomb, kid,” he chuckles, trying his best to make light of… whatever this is.

Raven shrugs. “Maybe you are.”

* * *

“I’m so glad you’re okay, kid.”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m okay.” She really isn’t. But it’s easier to pretend like she is; if only to keep up the facade she’s built in front of Clarke. 

“Who’s here with you?”

“Clarke Griffin and Monty Green.”

“Hi,” Monty says, shy.

“He’s the one with the Morse code.”

“You’re lucky *someone* paid attention,” Sinclair chuckles. “How are you kids doing?”

Clarke steps over, and Raven lets her take the mic. “We’re all okay. No radiation poisoning. And… there’s other people. Other survivors. But we can’t make it alone. We didn’t land anywhere near Mount Weather, and winter is coming soon. We need help.”

“Now that they know we’re alive, they’re making a plan to come down here, right?” Raven asks, swallowing down the rising fear. “*Right?*”

It feels like an eternity in the few seconds it takes for Sinclair to respond. “I don’t know. Abby and Kane and the rest of the council are meeting now, but after—” He stops. 

“After what?”

Clarke rests her hand on Raven’s arm, urging her back. “Sinclair, can you tell us *anything* about what’s going on up there?”

“I’m under direct orders not to.” Raven doesn’t say a word — she lets Sinclair stew it over himself. “I… I really shouldn’t.”

*Gotcha.* “Please,” Raven says, the emotional strain in her voice evident.

He sighs. “The council cut off section 17 last night.”

It’s Monty that speaks up now— “Cut off as in…”

“Sealed the airlock. Dead weight.”

“God,” Clarke sighs; Raven sees her wipe the corner of her eye with her sleeve. She recognizes the significance. The council voted, and that includes Clarke’s mother — and while she doesn’t know *how* she voted, Raven knows that Clarke’s trust in her isn’t very high after Wells’ revelation.

“There’s more.”

*What else could possibly have happened?*

“Your mother was arrested.”

Clarke goes pale. 

Sinclair quickly continues; “She’s… too important for…” He trails off, but they all know what he’s insinuating. “She tried to stop the culling.”

“How?”

“She knocked out a guard and sent out the video your father made. To the entire ship.” *What video?* “There were volunteers. To stay in seventeen. I don’t know if that makes it better… Actually, I don’t think it does.”

Clarke’s next words are calculated and precise; she’s holding every emotion back. “There’s only one thing I don’t understand. Why is Marcus Kane running this?”

He sighs, taking his voice so low, they can barely hear him through the static. “Chancellor Jaha was shot.” It’s clear enough.

“Is he—”

He cuts off Clarke before she can jump to any conclusions: “—Alive.”

She sighs in relief, and Raven can hear Monty let out a heavy gasp. “What happened?”

“They think a rogue guard member took his chance in the chaos of your ship getting sent down. Haven’t found a culprit yet, so—” Sinclair pauses, and cracks his knuckles — he’s thinking. He’s deciding whether or not to tell them something. “I’m assuming you know who.”

Raven glances at Clarke, arms folded. It isn’t like she couldn’t see trouble in that boy from a mile away. She takes in a sharp breath, biting her lip just slightly; and regains her composure, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes.”

“I’m also assuming you won’t tell.”

“…No.”

Raven trusts Sinclair, 100%. *She* would tell him. Clarke barely knows him— but she barely knows Bellamy, and she’s still protecting him. It’s not hard to guess why.

“Reyes?”

“Yeah?” she asks.

“I’ll be in touch. Kane should be back soon. Stay safe.”

“…You too.”

Monty turns to her, silent, but his pained expression saying it all.

“I need to get some air,” Raven says, crossing her arms. It’s starting to feel pretty claustrophobic in here.

“You two go.”

“You sure?”

Monty smiles. “Yeah. I’ll stay and listen.”

She takes a breather for a few minutes, slouched up against the side of the dropship, trying not to cry. *You don’t do that. You’re tough, and strong, and smart, and so is Sinclair, and he’s got this under control.* It doesn’t do much to soothe her worries. No one else knows; is feeling these feelings, thinking these thoughts. *Except her.*

Raven finds Clarke by the fire, warming her hands. She sits down on the log next to her, still damp from the last rain. “You think they’ll let you talk to her?”

“If she did what Sinclair says she did, I doubt it.”

“What *did* she do?”

“Sent out the video that got her husband killed and her daughter locked up,” Clarke chuckles, and it’s clear she’s still holding a grudge. “He tried to warn everyone about the oxygen. I tried to help.” *So they know now. Do they know about us?* “And she reported him.”

“Would it have changed anything?” Clarke’s brows furrow. “If she didn’t, they still would’ve killed him.” It’s easy to think in hypotheticals like this — Raven’s entirely uninvolved with any of it. She knows she couldn’t do the same if it were about Finn.

“But the people would’ve known.”

“So they could do nothing about it? There would’ve been riots; murders. There *will be*. You know what people will do to save themselves.” They both do, and it all revolves around Bellamy Blake.

Clarke sighs, and Raven can almost see the thoughts churning in her head. “It doesn’t make it any easier to forgive her.”

“I know.” She’s still not sure how close to forgiveness she is with her own mother. Not that it matters now. “To be honest, she doesn’t sound that bad,” Raven remarks. “Actually, kinda reminds me of you.”

Clarke looks at her, gaze sharp and focused. “I’m nothing like her.”

“It’s a complement,” Raven scoffs, shaking her head with a laugh. “She seems kinda badass. Knocking a guard’s lights out and all.”

“Yeah,” Clarke chuckles, “Mother of the year.”

“For what it’s worth,” Raven says, sighing. May as well empathise. “My mom was pretty shit too.”

“Yeah? Well, sorry for thinking it might not stack up.”

*God, she’s so dense.* “I never said it did,” she pauses, “She was never around much — and when she was, it was always empty-handed. Pretty sure she had me just to trade in my rations for moonshine. I wouldn’t have made it here if it wasn’t for—” Raven stops, the name too bitter in the back of her throat. *She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Finn in more ways than one.* She tries to hide the crack in her voice, clearing her throat before continuing. “—For the boy next door. He shared his rations. Remembered my birthday. Saved my life.” Reminiscing about the good times almost makes her feel… *something* for him again. She pushes it back, and tacks on an apathetic, “*I guess.*”

It’s a long moment before Clarke says anything. “To shitty parents, then.” She cracks a smile, mock raising a glass.

“Hey!” Monty’s voice rings out in the distance. “Need you two!”

* * *

“So?” Raven asks, leaning her body across the table, voice lowering as she side eyes the guard. “Anything?”

He frowns, forlorn. He doesn’t speak. *He doesn’t need to.*

“I thought you said skill like mine was worth a get out of jail free card.” That’s what he *said*. He *told her* he could get her out.

“I said it *could be*.”

“So what changed?” It takes every ounce of self control in her body not to slam her fist into the table. It’d get her restrained, probably put in isolation. Probably hurt like a bitch too.

Sinclair sighs. “Your medical record.” *As if it wasn’t what got her into this mess in the first place.* “I’m sorry.”

“Right. I’m just a waste of space.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“It’s… *fuck*… it’s *whatever*.” It’s not. But it *is* something she can leave to battle out in her mind when she’s back in her cell. “Did you talk to him?”

“I…” he trails off.

“What?”

“I don’t want to make you more upset.”

“Trust me. It can’t get any worse.” Whatever he’s done now, there’s no way.

“I *was* going to give him your letter, but I figured it might be awkward to do that in front of his new girlfriend.”

Raven scoffs. It’s not like this shit should surprise her. “That *asshole*.”

“Do you still want me to give—”

“No,” she laughs, “Don’t, it’s not mean enough now.”

Sinclair takes her hand, pursing his lips with a slight smile. “I’m sorry, Raven. I’ll be back.”

She nods, and he stands to leave. The second he’s out of sight, she wipes the tears forming in her eyes; cold metal handcuffs rubbing against her cheeks. *He never says her name.*

* * *

“Do you have any idea how long it’ll take to get everyone else down?”

“Negative. Our plans are to supplement you kids on the ground.”

“But… the radiation levels are safe! We’re here, and we’re alive, and we aren’t alone!”

“There could be long-term effects we wouldn’t see for decades. We’ll have to run additional tests before—”

“*We* were the test!” Clarke’s words echo against the metal walls. There’s only static.

“…What do you mean, *you’re not alone*?”

“We were attacked. Multiple times. I’ve seen them. They’re human, and they don’t like outsiders.”

“That’s impossible— no one could have survived those levels of radiation.”

“They did.”

Kane’s response is calculated, a moment later. “This doesn’t change our course of action.” *He doesn’t care.* He doesn’t care if this could save hundreds of people. It’s all about the precious oxygen and who’s expendable enough to sacrifice for some supposed ‘greater good’.

Clarke’s outburst is the complete opposite; she’s a spark of pent-up emotion and rage. “We’re *kids*! The most knowledgeable person we have here is Raven, but I don’t think we’ll be doing any rocket science any time soon! We need tools, and clothes, and shelter, and *help*.”

This is the most vulnerable Raven has seen her. It almost feels too personal to keep listening. Her feet stay firmly planted on the floor.

“*We need help,*” she repeats, her voice cracking.

“We’re working on a supply drop. We should be able to get you tools and clothes within the week.” Kane’s monotone response isn’t exactly soothing. *This girl lays her heart out in front of you, and you wouldn’t treat it delicate as it is? It’s like you don’t have one of your own.*

Raven jumps in, unable to contain the anger (and having spotted the logical flaws in his argument) brewing within. “How are you supposed to get it to us if we don’t even know where we are! We didn’t land anywhere near your *stupid mountain*!”

“I have a team working on your divergence from the course to pinpoint the most likely point of impact. We’re convinced that with satellite imagery as well as on-ground reports, we’ll be able to stage the drop within a 20-mile radius of your approximate—”

Clarke continues, her confidence wavering. “No! We need real leaders, a-and seeds to grow food, and people that know how to plant them, and take care of them, and real doctors, and… *I want to talk to my mom.*” she pleads, “Kane. Let me speak to her.”

“Your mother’s busy. We’re dealing with a massive medical crisis.”

“Right, the hypoxia.” Raven shares a look with Clarke. “You knew it was coming.”

He sighs. “She’s busy. Saving lives.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Silence.

“I want to talk to her.”

There’s a long break of static before Kane speaks again. “Once the situation’s under control, you can. It’s late. You all should get some rest.”

Clarke flicks the radio off. “Bastard.”

* * *

“Hey there, birthday girl.”

_ What a happy day it is. _

“Chin up. I got some news.”

She looks up. Not  _ good _ or  _ bad _ news. Just news. Raven isn’t sure what that could mean.

“You’re not having a trial.”

Raven almost laughs at that. She wouldn’t put it past the council. “Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty,” she mumbles, “Or does that not apply when you speed up the impending apocalypse?” Raven knows this isn’t good for her — but what else is there, when it’ll all be gone tomorrow?

He folds his hands on the table, and leans in close; his voice low, nearly a whisper. “I made a deal with the council. In a few days, they’re sending 100 of you down to the ground.”  _ How does that help her?  _ “I got your name on that list.”

Fear sinks into the pit of her stomach.  _ God. _ “I thought the ground wasn’t survivable, Sinclair?” she asks, hushed as Sinclair signals her to keep her voice down. “Is this just another way of killing us all?”

“Maybe.” He shakes his head, and shrugs. “But maybe not. If it is…”

“Then…  _ we get to live _ ?” she asks, eyes wide. Bleak as it is, it’s the largest shred of hope she’s had in weeks.

“This is your chance, Raven.” There’s her name again. She can’t help shedding a tear now, knowing this is the last time she’ll hear it. “And it’s the best I could do. So don’t waste it.”

She doesn’t intend to. After all, she’s probably dead either way.


End file.
